


Only You

by Anonymous



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Power Imbalance, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She's socially isolated, and he takes advantage of the fact.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 17
Kudos: 191
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "spot crossed lovers" is a much better, fluffier fic. You should read it if you're interested in a not-as-bad-but-still-wrong gabrinette relationship.
> 
> This ship is horrific, definitely skewed. Yet here I am writing it. Perhaps because I've been in a situation similar to Marinette...It's all too easy to take advantage of someone's inexperience, and it makes me sad. There's nothing explicit, but it does have some parts of my own trauma in there, so it might be triggering if you're a CSA victim.

Sometimes it feels like Mr. Agreste is the only one who understands her. He’s there when everyone else isn’t.

Marinette sighs as she sketches, reworking the collar of her latest design.

Ms. Bustier insists that she be the ‘bigger person’— _doormat_ she thinks bitterly—turning the other cheek for Lila and Chloe, who are content, no relish, hurting her over and over again. Why is she the one being scolded for not being patient enough, for not being kind enough? Mr. Damocles is no help either, quick to cave to the threat of the mayor, and believing the most fantastical of lies.

Her pencil slows.

It would’ve been fine if it was only those two. But then her classmates, _her friends_ , showed her how little she meant to them when Lila returned. So easily charmed, they shunned her. Not at all questioning the dramatic sob stories. Not trusting her, who they’ve known since elementary school. And the one other person who knows the truth naively thinks it will pass, that lies won’t hurt, don’t hurt. It hurts.

Her pencil stops.

Even her parents have started to lose faith. It’s not surprising. Clumsy. Frequently late. Having to break promises. Tikki says that it’s an unfortunate part of being Ladybug. How can she treat it as if it were a fact? What does it mean when the kwami of creation doesn’t even have a solution? Is this the rest of her life now? Slowly having to become what she hates the most for the sake of hiding her identity? A liar.

Her pencil quivers, matching her lips as tears well up and fall, smudging the fine graphite lines.

“Miss Marinette, are you all right?”

His tone is gentle and kind and everything she needs right now. Not trusting herself to speak, she slowly shakes her head. The warm weight of his hand rests on her shoulder.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He glances toward the couch, where the tissues are, resting quietly on the side table next to it. Marinette nods, already standing up and letting him guide her. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

She sits down next to him, knees almost touching. For a brief moment, she feels ashamed, sitting so scandalously close to her idol. But it can’t be helped. This couch is a settee, probably chosen because this is Gabriel Agreste’s private design room, meant only for him. (Though she’s been coming around for quite some time now. Surely long enough to implement a change in furniture...) So it makes sense that the couch is shorter than what one might expect, sides flared as to allow for one to lay down. Yes. Marinette can certainly imagine him pulling all-nighters, retreating to the couch for a moment of respite. After all, she would do the same if she had something like this. The images waver and superimpose in her mind, and suddenly she remembers another name for settees.

Loveseat.

Her face burns, hyperaware of the hand caressing her own, of the hand wiping away her tears. The left could easily slip off onto her thigh. The right brushes across her cheek, catching even the tears that run towards her chin. What if his hand stopped there? What if it brushed against her lips, stopping in the center, thumb gently parting the top and bottom? All the scenarios from the romance novels she’s read float through her mind. She bites her lip, scolding herself. Mr. Agreste hasn’t done anything but be a good mentor. And he’s Adrien’s father, someone’s husband. (But where is his wife?) If anything, she’s the one being inappropriate, venting and making him comfort her like this. (She likes it. Wants it. But no, she shouldn’t.) He really is too compassionate, indulging her negative emotions. It’s a miracle that Hawkmoth hasn’t akumatised her. She’s thankful for it. Her akuma self would probably wreck the room, and she wouldn’t want to trouble Mr. Agreste.

Once again, she lets it out, all her worries, stresses, and fears, and he accepts them. No pushing them aside, or pretending that everything is okay.

“Negative feelings are natural,” he reassures, calm as ever, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. He continues.

“It’s when we suppress them, that they become monsters, akuma, wanting to be set free.”

Tears now dry, his hand returns to her shoulder.

“Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

His eyes peer into her as if searching for something. Can he see that there are things she wants to tell him, but can’t? Not quite negative feelings, but forbidden ones. The lock on them has been gradually rusting, and it frightens her. She swallows the words threatening to climb out her mouth, settling on ones slightly more innocuous.

“Thanks for always listening. I feel like you’re the only one who understands me.”

Mr. Agreste softens, a warm smile gracing his face.

“I could say the same to you, Miss Marinette.”

His words are the key, emboldening her. The lock breaks and her feelings burst forth. Marinette leans forward, arms outstretched, and embraces him. The force of it pushes both of them down.

“Thank you, Mr. Agreste.”

She says it again, with a tender passion that even surprises herself. She still can’t say the full phrase, but she hopes her actions will convey the rest. She lets her lips brush against his neck, brief and chaste.

He freezes, and for a second Marinette fears that she’s messed up again, but then he speaks, no exhales.

_“Marinette…”_

It’s just her name, but it’s more than that. It raises every goosebump on her body from the sheer amount of affection laced within. There’s something else there too, something desperate and adult that she doesn’t have the experience to name yet.

A hand weaves into her hair, while the other rests on the small of her back. Pulling her close, he nestles into the crook of her neck.

“Please, call me Gabriel.”

His breath is hot and oh so close to her ear. It sends the butterflies in her stomach flying, and she can’t help but stutter.

“G-Gabriel.”

Marinette feels him shudder, visceral and deep. It’s impossible not to, being pressed up against him. The action vibrates through her, leaving her oddly tingly and sensitive. There’s heat pooling someplace other than her face for once, and she wonders if this is what love truly feels like. 

The alarm on her phone chimes, signalling the end of their design session.

She shoots up, suddenly self-conscious about her disheveled state. Gabriel rises after her, sounding oddly winded; yet, he stands up, as composed as ever. He pulls out his planner, scrolling through possible dates for next time, as if it’s the end of a normal session. Is this going to be their new normal? Her feelings are a mess, scattered and fragmented, on the edge of hesitation.

“Does Wednesday next week work for you?”

But she has nowhere else to go to. No one else to go to.

“Yes.”


	2. Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His goal as Hawkmoth has changed, but it's just as horrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a second chapter of sorts. Yes, I'm just as surprised as you are. It let me repurpose an old WIP I never finished. More exposition than character interaction (also a bit of an AU), but I like understanding a character's motivations. I was trying to think of why Gabriel would continue to be Hawkmoth if he managed to find new love, considering his original goal.
> 
> Also writing this made me realize how much more I prefer writing present tense compared to past tense.

Emilie.

She was soft pinks and sunflower hair. Fluttering kisses on the back of his neck. Soothing tension with fluttering, gentle fingers. She could be a little headstrong sometimes, a bit rebellious, but he relished the challenge. Resistance is the spice that makes victory all the sweeter, after all.

She brought out emotions in him that he thought had never existed, seeing beauty where no one else could. The thrum of excitement and warmth churning in his core are evidence of that. They yearn to consume, heating him to the brim. To think he’d find an obsession greater than fashion! He knew then that he had to keep her. One unplanned pregnancy later (at least, to all except him), and she was.

That had made it all the more horrible when she was stolen from him, locked away, far away within her own mind. All courtesy of those cursed trinkets, the Miraculous. The warmth inside him smoulders, burns and rages. They’d give her back, he would make them.

Hawkmoth is born, and with him, Ladybug and Chat Noir.

* * *

Akumatisation comes easy. His victims do most of the work. They let their feelings fester and burgeon into a monstrous distortion, disproportionate to whatever incident had provoked such emotions. Because of that, they became impossible to express, impossible for others to understand. Pitiful and searching for a way to communicate their grievances.

Who could blame them for lashing out?

Honestly, he was doing them a favor. Sure they’d rampage, destroy, and maim, but it would always be fixed in the end (‘Miraculous Ladybug’, what a convenient power). The instigator would have an epiphany of empathy. How could they not, with the victim’s point-of-view so right in their face, garbed in garish colors? For victims of self-induced negativity, akumatisation had a similar benefit. Unable to be ignored or brushed away, they could express themselves openly and without shame. 

Now if only he could do the same.

* * *

The fire within him diminishes with each defeat. As it weakens, he sobers, remembers, and realizes the truth.

* * *

It was his day off. He had been working in his study. Just one of many designs, but he couldn’t focus, scrawling lines too harsh to erase. His mannequin sat nearby, pins haphazardly placed and pushed in all the way to the head. The clock taunted him with its ticking, with his fear.

Emilie was late. 

He grabbed his phone, ready to call again. Then she had burst into the room wearing an excited smile, holding the most peculiar box. Frankly, it looked ominous. Red markings on black, quite stereotypical. But more important was her expression. It was a true smile, spanning wider than any she’d ever given him. That should have been his first clue.

“Open it,” she said, almost breathless. Ignoring the strange box, he opened his mouth to scold her. How could she torment him like that? The expression must have shown on his face because her smile wilted into the faintest uptick of the lip, and the light in her eyes dimmed. The skittish, apprehensive Emilie had returned. A rare pang of guilt struck.

He decided to indulge her, taking the box from her shaking hands. 

Opening the box revealed...a brooch?

A purple orb sprung forth before giving way to an outlandish creature. Its body was lavender with a deep violet swirl on its forehead. The protrusions on its back resembled the wings of a butterfly.

“This is Nooroo,” she murmured. “And Nooroo, this is my husband, Gabriel.”

He could only stare at the creature. Just wha—

“Nooroo says he needs help. He’s searching for a dear friend,” Emilie continued, hands clasping in front of her chest. 

“Gabriel, I-”

She bit her lip, eyes darting between the floor and his stormy blue gaze.

“I want to help him. A-and I won’t have to leave the manor to do it. Isn’t that nice?”

It certainly sounded tempting, a distraction other than Adrien, who only seemed to pull her away from him, with all the mothering group meetings and the nature walks (apparently good for a baby’s health).

Emilie stepped toward him with the affection he craved, wrapping her arms around him, her soft lips just millimeters away from his ear. It was just that captivating wisp of breath.

“Please…?”

He relented.

* * *

Yet another brooch rested in her hands, shaped like a petite fan. It could have been a vibrant accessory, displayed proudly as part of one’s spring wear, but its fuscous dusting rendered it sickly. Still Emilie pinned it to her chest, a spot of blight on her soft pink blouse. He glared at it, an eyesore tarnishing his designer clothes.

“Nooroo says his friend can be awakened by a human with strong enough resonance.”

She tilted her head upward, gesturing to the kwami. The being nodded its head, tittering nervously. Gabriel spoke up.

“And what if you fail?”

Emilie regarded him calmly, and it felt like she was looking somewhere far beyond him.

“Nothing. There won’t be any pain, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She laughed in a way he hadn’t heard in years, and her last words left her lips.

“Spread, my feathers!”

The brooch glowed, its light bursting into a shower of luminescent plumes. She welcomed them, face growing more pale and slack with every touch. She was smiling, arms raised in exaltation. Gabriel rushed forward.

Her eyes became glassy, expression empty, and she fell. Trembling, he caught her, cradling her head gingerly. He could feel the slow pulse of her heart, the drone of her breath. Nooroo simply observed, a bittersweet mixture of happy and sad for his new friend, finding relief in the only way she could.

* * *

Emilie had escaped. She had _wanted_ to escape. The knowledge fills him with despair, extinguishing the last of the embers. Still he tries, terrorizing Paris and luring out the heroes. He has her body. He can make a new Emilie. Wishes can do anything, will do anything. He won’t hear otherwise.

Then he crosses paths with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

* * *

Emilie stoked a blaze within him, but Marinette births a star. Her creativity overflows, matched by her kindness and work ethic. Warm once more, he vows to never lose that feeling again.

It’s difficult, but he stays patient, letting her budding infatuation for him flourish into something more passionate. She’s at a fickle age, and he doesn’t want to scare her off. But she comes to him easily (Emilie never made the first move), and confides in him, seeking what everyone else has denied her. That’s how he learns her secret identity.

He’s overjoyed. No, not for the sake of stealing the Miraculous. He had long accepted that attaining them was a battle he’d never win. Though, he never really lost either, always free to try again. An endless cycle.

How perfect. As long as Hawkmoth lurks, Ladybug will have to stay in Paris. Her double life will strain her until she’s frayed at the edges. 

And he’ll always be there, ready to mend what he’s broken.


End file.
